To Safe Harbors
by Jul3s
Summary: Nursing a hangover from hell is bad enough as it is. But doing so under the watchful eyes of your family? Sequel to "To Guards and Guardians".


_**A/N:** This is the sequel to __"To Guards and Guardians" and not having written anything profound for nearly two months, it's a real pleasure to be back on a roll again. Expect more to come soon!  
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**To Safe Harbors**

by Jules

Waking up sure had once been a more pleasant experience. Don Eppes wearily rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand, contemplating if simply going back to sleep and trying this again in a couple of hours might make a difference. Probably not. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again, wincing inwardly at the thundering in his head and the sluggish feel in the rest of his body. It definitely had been a while since his last true hangover. Either that or he should acknowledge the signs his body was giving him and resign to the fact he was getting old.

Most of what he remembered from the night before was hazy. He knew he'd decided not to go to the Friday barbecue at the house, opting for a night home alone with his special bottle and his morose thoughts instead. Somewhere along the time line Charlie had materialized on his doorstep and some conversation had ensued, but Don was fuzzy on the details.

It would come back to him at some point, he was sure it would. There was this nagging feeling deep inside that it wasn't an entirely pleasant memory and those always reconstructed themselves, whether you wanted them to or not.

As carefully as the headache allowed, Don rolled back onto his side and reached out for his alarm on the nightstand. 9:07am, the LED digits informed him blearily. There was still ample time to make this day worthwhile. But that did involve moving and he and his body weren't exactly in agreement on that activity just yet. On the other hand, staying in bed and not going back to sleep would lead to more thinking and he wasn't sure his head was going to survive that.

Don Eppes was a man of action, so he pulled himself up into a sitting position, allowing a small moan to escape as the headache transformed into a bellowing beast at the change of altitude. The world seemed to tilt for a moment or two and his stomach obviously contemplated revolution, so he grabbed the edges of the mattress and closed his eyes until everything quieted down again.

Okay. He was upright. Now all he needed was a plan. And he was genuinely surprised to find out coming up with one wasn't all that hard. The bathroom had first priority. He also felt a strong need to get rid of the taste of dead mole in his mouth and the medicine cabinet that held a half-full bottle of Aspirin was there as well. So, bathroom it was.

Easier thought than executed, he realized on his way and the conclusion how pathetic this actually was followed only a few steps behind. It threw him back in time, to when he was 13 and he and a couple of friends had tried sampling the entire house bar at one of their homes. They never made it through all the bottles before their bodies conceded defeat and waking up the next morning had felt not unlike it had this morning. But his Mom had shown no mercy and dragged him out of bed despite his begging, declaring him old enough to make his own decisions and live with the consequences. If he remembered correctly, he ended up mowing their vast lawn and elderly Mrs. Brown's from next door for the rest of the summer for that.

Dad had always been the more traditional half of the parental unit, dishing out house arrests with a stern voice if necessary. They'd even had the occasional shouting match in his late teens, clearing the air only afterwards when both of them had calmed down enough to listen to reason. Mom on the other hand had style, even in disciplining him. She was never angry, just disappointed. She never rose her voice either, but delivered her speech with conviction and a sweet smile. He could still remember her telling him how he should consider this penance and not punishment, as he had to start the same afternoon, pushing their old lawnmower over seemingly endless stretches of green in the hot summer sun while all he really wanted to do was die, preferably right then.

Stopping by the bathroom door, Don realized he would really have to get his straying thoughts under control if he was truly planning on improving the day. Revisiting the distant past really wasn't going to get him there. He snorted in spite of himself and dragged his weary body around the corner. Not feeling enticed to see his reflexion in the mirror, he left the lights off and moved through his ablutions on autopilot. As refreshed as he probably could be at this point, Don leaned against the door lintel and thought about the next step. Oh, yeah. Coffee. Padding over to the kitchen, he approached the coffee maker and did a double take.

Uh, okay. He was pretty sure he'd been in no condition to actually prepare the machine last night. And while he was very organized in much of his life, he wasn't even the person to do that. Which only left... a tired smile pulled at his face at the realization. He switched the machine on and leaned his aching head against the cabinet doors above, inhaling the scent of the fresh brew while it dripped though. Out of their own volition, his thoughts started to stray again, now back to the previous night and his visitor.

He'd really been in a bad mood, the usual relaxing of nerves after a case had been wrapped up simply not setting in. Don felt loyal to and bound by justice, that was why he'd chosen his profession in the first place. But sometimes what the law provided him as options simply didn't feel enough. He didn't want to feel content about having put away those people. All he really wanted to do, deep down inside, was pay them a visit at the MDC down on Alameda and put a bullet between their eyes. Bradford would have his field day with that thought, Don was sure. Not that he ever planned to inform the psychologist about it.

The fact that his little brother had actually caught up on what exactly was bothering him only showed how transparent his struggle had become recently. Given how bad Charlie's people skills normally were. Okay, maybe that was a bit unfair. Charlie had grown up quite a lot over the last couple of years. He really wasn't a nerdy recluse anymore.

The coffee pot was half full and Don pulled it off the heating plate to pour himself a cup, wincing at the small hisses of coffee drops evaporating on the hot plate and the burnt smell they left behind. He quickly replaced the pot and carefully moved around the counter to have a seat.

It astounded him more than it scared him how often he'd come close to that breaking point before. How often he would have wanted to 'lose' someone's paperwork just to keep him in custody a little longer if it felt crucial to solve a case more quickly. How far he'd gone in catching Crystal Hoyle, and boy, was that one still haunting him. It didn't even scare him anymore that notions of arbitrary law were coming so easily these days.

When Nikki Davis had been killed, Robin had been the one to pull him back from the void, pointing out clearly that he'd compromise himself, something he should've seen himself. And in recent cases, it often had been Megan acting at his conscience. And sometimes even Charlie. The system wasn't perfect, he'd known that all along. It was his job to make it work at its best. Maybe his own lack of control in these matters should scare him after all, but right now, he couldn't really care about it.

Rubbing his tired face, Don decided that there was only one option to get himself into order again. Sweating it out. Wearily, he drained his mug and slid off the seat to search for his running shoes.

XOXOX

"Anybody home?" Don called a couple of hours later as he entered the cool interior of the old Craftsman home. He was still feeling only slightly better than regurgitated roadkill, even though he'd run solid five miles to clear his system. He'd aimed for ten, but decided against it when it became clear that pushing himself any further might very well land him face-first in the nearest ditch and that would've done nothing for his self-esteem.

When the shower afterwards had rendered him feeling only marginally better and the creeping sensation of self-pity had set in while the rest of him still felt as if he was floating two inches above the ground, Don had decided that hanging out alone in his present state was probably a bad idea. So he'd downed the pot of coffee, just to be on the safe side, and drove out here. Full well knowing that further inquiries about his whereabouts of last night as well as some paternal admonitions would probably be on the menu.

"Outside," came the muted reply from the other side of the house and he deposited his keys and gun on the table on the way. Alan was sitting on the patio reading a magazine while Charlie was down by the koi pond, fighting a futile battle with the ever-growing weeds around it.

"Hey Dad," he said as he stepped outside, patting his father on the shoulder as he rounded the table to the deck chair on the opposite side.

"Hey, Donnie. We missed you last night," Alan said without looking up and Don lowered himself into the soft cushions with a sigh.

He felt the scrutiny of his father's eyes and looked up, just in time to see him deposit his reading glasses on top of the magazine on the table with a resigned expression.

"Well," Alan said succinctly, "whatever you were doing, it certainly looks like it was too much of a good thing. Coffee?"

Don shook his head weakly and sank backwards into a semi-horizontal position, trying fervently to ignore the lazy somersault his stomach had performed at the mere mentioning of more caffeine. It wasn't fair, because he could really use some more. Whatever energy he'd managed to muster over the course of the day sure was flagging by now.

Alan mumbled something under his breath and got up to go inside anyway. Don sighed and tiredly folded one arm behind his head. His new position gave him a good vantage point of Charlie roaming around the pond, a mere silhouette in the afternoon sun slanting through the trees. He looked over once, acknowledged Don's presence with a slight nod and continued bonding with nature.

His memory still was hazy on certain details, but most of his conversation with Charlie had found its way out of the dark void. And made him feel more than just a little uncomfortable and not only because of his earlier thoughts on Charlie's lack of people skills. His little brother had pretty much hit a bullseye last night. He really should give him more credit, he had the benefit of growing up with him after all. And even if their youth wasn't exactly filled with fraternal happiness, Charlie certainly had spent a lot of his time watching him, getting to know his brother from a distance.

His train of thought, again on its way into regions he absolutely didn't want to explore with this hangover from hell still full in effect, was interrupted by his father's reappearance. A plate and a mug filled with a steaming liquid were put down on the table within his reach.

"David told me some of that case of yours, whatever he could disclose. That really sounded like a bad one."

Don eyed the sandwich before him with a wary glance, pretty sure his stomach wasn't going to handle that just yet, and moved to raise the mug to take a peak inside. "What's that?" he asked.

"Peppermint tea."

If he didn't know it would hurt his head, Don would have laughed about that. Talk about a blast from the past. He took a careful sip, memories of being sick as a child coming up at the familiar taste. Mom would always bring him peppermint tea when he was sick. Those two sets of memories were so much linked together that he hadn't had tea in, oh, well over a decade.

Alan just looked at him, shook his head once and picked his magazine up again.

Don took another a sip and laid back, allowing the familiar and pungent taste to take him down memory lane once more. Back to the summer he had his tonsils out and being even more grumpy about being sick than he was anyway, since it made him miss a couple of Little League games. Mom had him camped out here in this very chair when the weather was good and accompanied him, working on files and telling him stories in between.

"You know, Donnie," his father pulled him back into the present while still hidden behind his magazine, "I know you. You've done all you could on that case. Maybe even a little more than that. No reason really to beat yourself up now."

Of course, they were all right. Then why was it still so hard to believe it himself? He scooted a bit lower to get more comfortable, watching Charlie rake the lawn around were he was working. Grown-up Charlie was so different than little Charlie from his memories. Just out of his diapers and already on the cusp of being recognized as a genius. Back in that summer, the perpetual 'why' was Charlie's favorite word. He was questioning everything, always wanting to have the universe explained. Always putting himself, even if unintentionally, in the center of attention with his quest for knowledge and his sometimes surprisingly intelligent inquiries. It was the last normal summer they had as brothers, as a family. That fall, it became clear that Charlie wasn't just a very bright toddler and their whole family structure changed to accommodate that.

"Here." Something soft landed on his stomach and he startled, wondering when his eyes had slid close anyway, blinking owlishly at the soft blanket now covering him.

"You're going to grow cold if you're falling asleep," Alan said, already fully absorbed in his magazine again.

"'m not falling asleep. Just resting my eyes," Don muttered with a hint of petulance that even amused himself and pushed the blanket down to his feet.

"Yeah, I can see that." There was a hint of amusement in his father's voice as well and Don buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm, the beginning of a smile twitching the corners of his own mouth.

Ah, who was he kidding? They were a great family. And they all had him pretty much pegged out. Even if both his father and brother would eternally claim he was an enigma, they'd always find his weak spots and pounce on them. Maybe that's what family was for after all. He should probably learn to embrace it.

Don closed his eyes again, a comforting sense of home settling somewhere in his middle, and listened to the crickets until they faded into the background.

XOXOX

The next time he opened his eyes, it was almost dark and he was alone outside. There were subdued noises coming from inside the house through the still open patio door, but aside from the crickets it was wonderfully quiet out here. Despite his earlier protests, the blanket had found its way spread over him while he was sleeping and he stretched and fumbled until he could free his right wrist to check his watch. Almost 8pm. Struggling out of the unwanted cocoon, he proceeded to sit up when a figure stepped out into the semidarkness.

"How are you doing?" Charlie asked and took a seat in the chair earlier occupied by their father.

Don scratched his head and thought about it for a moment. "Better," he said and realized it was almost the truth. He had no idea how long he'd slept, but it had obviously done the trick. The headache had dissipated to a nagging afterthought and he wasn't feeling like he was floating anymore.

"Dad's out in the kitchen preparing dinner. I think he might take it personally if you refuse more than one meal per day."

Right on cue, Don's stomach gave a loud growl and they both shared a chuckle. "I don't think that's gonna be a problem," Don said with a grin and stopped himself from reaching for the mug on the table. Damn, he really was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to drink cold tea. Truth to be told, he could really do with a cold beer now, but he knew that that wasn't going to happen tonight.

A companionable silence settled over the brothers as Don rolled and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders, aware that Charlie was watching him closely. He looked up and their eyes met. "What?" Don asked.

"You know..." Charlie began and looked away, "I really meant what I said last night."

"I know," Don answered after a while. "Thank you."

The sounds of clattering plates from inside rose in intensity, telling them dinner was about to be ready and Don was glad for the excuse to not delve deeper into the subject. They'd said what had to be said and all he really needed now was another night to sleep over it before it actually might sink in.

Charlie rose to his feet and threw another glance at Don with an almost impish expression. "Need a hand?"

It was hard to resist the temptation for banter, but Don realized he wasn't really in the mood for it, so he just extended his hand and let his brother pull him up into a standing position.

Some demons fought, others still waiting in line for their turn. It was a grim thought, but it seemed to be just another day of what passed for normal for him lately. He should really think about doing something to change that. And he would. Tomorrow, probably.

"So, what's for dinner?" he asked, clapping Charlie on the shoulder as they made their way back into the house.

-The End-

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_If you were wondering, Don's hangover was taken from first-hand experience. :-) The next stop will be to find out if it's as much an epiphany for Don as it was for me.  
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